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Finding Klonodor: Part Two
The company had safely navigated their way through the Trollshaws and across the Last Bridge, entering the desolate terrain known as the the Lone-lands. Tension was well apparent between the rangers and the sell swords. They outnumbered them, but the rangers were better skilled and better armed. Squabbling talk over morality and duty was common: Duirmid would not shut up about how heedless the mercenaries were to the plight of the Free People. The sell swords had just laughed it off. “Better be a rich man without a country than a dead man fighting for a lost cause,” they kept saying. Alasdair ignored their talk. Ulna the healer kept still, not opening her mouth since Alec had seen them off. The company trekked on undisturbed. Sorley suggested a stop at Ost Guruth for the night to make camp. There would be ale and it would be safe. Alasdair fancied a rest and some drink, but he knew they must press on. Alasdair said, “We stop only briefly for food and drink. Be quick about it.” An acquainted face greeted Alasdair at the front of the settlement: Frideric the Elder, who seemed to be the de facto leader of Ost Guruth. “Hail Alasdair, ranger of the North! Alasdair bowed. “We do not mean to stay long, Frideric. I'm sorry, friend, but we have little time for pleasantries. Our companion is missing and my company fears for the worst.” “You speak of the Dunedain they call Klonodor. Yes, yes. Word has gotten to these parts of his tragedy. Terrible news. He was well-liked and renowned.” Alasdair nodded. “Then you realize our hastiness.” “I will not keep you long, Alasdair. Our vendors are at your disposal...but, uh, I do not know the rest of you.” Frideric pointed to the sell swords and Ulna. “Evil men have been raiding our lands. Half-orcs, they say. They do not look like such kind but I cannot permit them on the grounds. They will have to wait outside.” “Now, you listen, old man,” Kyran stabbed back, but was stopped by Duirmid. “He is right,” Duirmid said. “These are a peaceful people who are wary of outsiders. I will stay outside as well, father.” “Very well. Back soon,” Alasdair said as he walked away. Minutes upon minutes passed as the company waited for Alasdair. Finally, he returned with enough supplies to last a week and three new horses. “Don't get too attached, Duirmid, we are only borrowing them. I feel Klonodor is close. We ride for the Forsaken Inn.” Alasdair mounted his horse and offered Ulna to ride with him. Duirmid rode with Sorley, Kyran with Conall. They took the Great Road East traveling towards Bree-land. The clatter of horse made noise on the dry sand road. There was only one place where rumor would lead them to Klonodor: the Forsaken Inn. The sun vanished behind the clouds and the moon rose above the mountainous horizon. “We're getting close,” Duirmid said. Just after he spoke, an arrow flew over Duirmid's head, almost hitting him. Duirmid looked puzzled. He sighed and looked for any sight of trouble. He turned around to Sorley, an arrow piercing his temple, dead. The frail body of Sorley fell off the horse and smacked the ground. Gone. “We're under attack!” The horse being ridden by Conall and Kyren bucked and flung both sell swords off its back, fleeing. Conall and Kyran struggled to get up. Ulna gripped Alasdair tightly. She spoke for the first time in days. “We are going to die here.” Duirmid spotted the archers. Half-orcs. Mutant villainy. “There! Behind the rocks!” Duirmid unsheathed his sword and charged the archers. Out of nowhere, a spear had gored Duirmid's horse, sending Duirmid flying into a nest of the enemy. Alasdair was close, however, as he hacked away and beheaded every Half-orc in sight. Kyran and Conall came rushing from the distance, attacking the spearmen with their clubs and axes. Blood everywhere – Ulna could only watch as a Half-orc frothing at the mouth staggered towards her. “Stay back!” Ulna reached for a small dagger under her leggings. The Half-orc pressed forward, almost smiling at the thought of his kill. The head was severed from its bodies and rolled on the ground. A figure on horseback gave her a long, dark stare from his crystal white eyes. He threw down the rusty Orcish blade used to behead the creature. Alasdair looked up from the fighting. Severin? Klonodor? A Half-orc came from behind Alasdair and tackled him. Duirmid thrust his blade into it, saving his father, but he was maimed by a bite from the Half-orc's jagged teeth in the process. When Alasdair made it back to his feet, he turned his head and tried to spot the dark figure. Gone. Gone again. “Damn you, Klonodor,” he thought. The last of the Half-orcs were disposed off. The company regrouped and looked around at the carnage. “We burn the dead. Sorley too,” Alasdair said coldly. “Conall, Kyran, you will tend to the bodies. Ulna, I will need you to bandage my son and tend to his wounds.” Duirmid gripped the cut on his arms. “Damned creatures. Father, where are you going?” “The inn.” Conall and Kyran stacked up the bodies. Duirmid, wincing over the blood loss, drew flint and handed it to Kyran. The bodies were engulfed in fire as the group watched on. Minutes turned to hours and the company sat in silence as they idled away time waiting for Alasdair's return. Conall said, “Wonder what's taking him so long...” Before he could finish speaking, an inebriated and sweating Alasdair swung upon the inn's door and approached the company. “You reek of ale, father.” “Yes, yes. Too many visions and memories I endured while in that wretched place. But I come with good news or, at least, some news. The shadowy figure has been seen at night around the inn. A curious group of on-lookers said that they followed it until they saw the figure descend upon Weathertop where they dared not to go. I believe Klonodor is seeking refuge in Amon Sul, the Hill of Wind.” “The highest point in the Weather Hills,” Duirmid added. “I understand it. Klonodor would desire to be back at a place that was built by his Arnorian ancestors. We leave the horses here and make on foot. The horses seem startled by this...apparition...this thing...They will go no further. Come,” Alasdair commanded. The ascent up the Weather Hills was arduous and exhausting yet the company maintained a positive spirit knowing that Klonodor could be close by. Finally, the company reached the summit but there no one to be found. They removed their belongings and set up camp. In silence, Alasdair pondered that savage shriek Klonodor let out before he vanished. Alec was right. No longer a man. Something else. The company drifted off to sleep under the comfort of the night's sky. An eery calm surrounded the summit. Silence and more silence. Stillness...the world had become mute. A flashing light blinded the company and voices whispered, “Elysian...Elvellonwen...Elys...Elv...Eeeeell...eeees...seeeee” A shadowy figure emerged. “I'll have my sword back...Alasdair,” a raspy voice said from the darkness. A hooded entity. Almost without form, hovering near them, getting closer and closer. The figure took off his hood and showed his face. A ghastly sight at first, but when they peered into its steel cold eyes, they almost recognized the figure. It was almost beautiful in its darkness. There he stood. Klonodor – or at least some form of him. His skin had an alabaster blueish hue to it and his eyes were piercingly strong. He was fully healed. But how? Another figured emerged behind Klonodor's back, itching his way to Klonodor's side. Rellan. The Heretic. His cocky voice said, “I have saved the Dunedain, you see...I have need of him.” Klonodor, possessed, walked slowly toward Alasdair. Rellan clutched his staff and let out a laugh. Fear and horror come over the company. “My...sword, Alasdair. Naurearnor. Give it to me,” Klonodor muttered softly yet firmly. Rellan lifted his staff in the air and chanted spells in a queer language not known to any of the company. Naurearnor became heavy. Alasdair could no longer hold onto it. The sword fell from his hands and clashed to the ground, bolts of electricity radiating through the blade. Klonodor knelt before the sword and held it once again. “Klonodor, you...must come with us,” Duirmid said shaking. Conall and Kyran unsheathed their swords and sprang towards Klonodor. Before Alasdair could warn them, Klonodor swung Naurearnor in a swift, mighty blow, cutting both sell swords in half. Rellan laughed. “Noooooo!” Alasdair yelled. A bolt of lightning shot out of Rellan's staff, sending Alasdair, Duirmid and Ulna from the summit, rolling to the hills below. Darkness crept over Alasdair's eyes. Klonodor surveyed the damage below. Then Rellan put his hand on the figure's shoulder, only saying: “We have work to do.” Category:The Elysian Shard